Diagon Alley: Pat's Break
by cascadia55
Summary: Non-canon characters - Patricia Lacey needs to take time off school and goes to stay with her sister, who runs a shop in Diagon Alley. She thinks she may have found love in the "boy next door," but is he everything he seems to be?
1. Chapter 1

"Put that down, Jim'll take your trunk, _won't you Jim_?" said Anne Hide, flashing her husband an affectionate smile before turning back to Pat, "Now you're sure you'll be OK upstairs? You've got your own sink, but you'll have to share the main bathroom with Jim and I. And it does get a bit noisy in the evening, so I do hope you'll be able to sleep alright. Oh, and I'm awfully sorry but we've been having a bit of a problem with frimbles, so mind you don't go to bed without your socks on. And-"

"Anne!" said Pat, cutting her sister off in mid sentence, and looking almost exasperated, "I'll be fine! I'm just thankful you're agreeing to let me stay here! I don't mind about frimbles or sharing a loo or any of that."

"Oh, of course we're letting you stay here!" said Anne, waving a hand dismissively, "I'll be awfully glad to have some extra help downstairs; it always gets so busy this time of year! And besides, Trisha, how can I turn away my own sister!"

"I hope you're not just doing this because we happen to share the same parents," said Pat, "And speaking of parents...You _know_ dad's not going to be pleased with you."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Anne, "It had to happen sooner or later! You may be the baby-"

"I am _not_!"

"Oh shut it, you know you are! Anyway, you may be this family's little baby, but you have to grow up eventually. He can't expect you to hang around the manor forever..."

"But you know dad..." sighed Pat, "Out and alone...Without a man...Vulnerable to the lure of undesirables: scoundrels, good-for-nothings...God forbid I should be swept away by a _muggle_," she finished with a dramatic and sarcastic tone that she hoped would mask her anxiety.

"Don't be ridiculous. Now stop being such a brick and go unpack yourself! If you need extra blankets they're in the cupboard beside the staircase; the blue one mind! Don't try opening the white ones, they, er, don't take well to strangers!"

Anne gave Pat a beaming smile, and retreated back to the storefront as the bell on the counter gave a resounding 'ping!'. Pat, almost relieved, picked up her lumpy carpet-bag and started up the stairs. Halfway up the winding steps, she bumped into Jim, who was hastily wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Heavy, that was!" he said, smiling good-naturedly, "Decided to pack half of Hogwarts, did you?"

"Hi Jim," said Pat, grinning, "It's just a few things I need. You need to get in shape if you think _that_'s heavy."

"Ha! Who d'you think's been hefting all the stock around for the past two months! Anne's obviously in no condition to be straining herself, what with the baby coming." He smiled proudly, then continued on, clapping a hand on Pat's shoulder, "You know we'd let you stay no matter what, but you couldn't've picked a better time. I, well, _we_ really need all the help we can get around here, even just to keep up. Thank you for agreeing to give us a hand, Patricia."

"Believe me," said Pat, laughing dryly, "You're doing _me_ the favor here. Sorry Jim, I've got to go unpack - besides, I think I hear Annie calling you!"

She gave Jim a teasing grin as he rolled his eyes and headed downstairs. Pat ascended the topmost steps and pushed open the door immediately to her left. A cramped, fairly plain room with white-washed walls and an ancient-looking wrought iron bed, complete with a battered, paisley, patchwork quilt, met her gaze. Her trunk had been laid neatly at the end of the bed, and a fresh set of powder-blue towels had been draped over the edge of the tiny white sink standing beneath a square-framed looking glass set into the wall. Squeezed into a corner was a squat dresser whose white paint was peeling slightly, and whose top housed a varied selection of family photographs, both Hide and Lacey.

Pat tossed her bag onto the bedspread and walked over to the tiny window in the opposite wall. She drew back the curtains and leaned out through the frame: beneath her lay Diagon Alley, in all its bustling glory.

Pat leaned lazily against the window frame, watching the masses of witches and wizards walk to and fro doing their shopping. Across the street at Quality Quidditch Supplies, a group of little boys had their noses pressed against the display glass, ogling the latest line of monogrammed Tutshill Tornadoes robes; a withered-looking wizard, with an exceptionally mouldy-looking tophat, had set up a small booth housing a selection of what looked like photograph postcards; a tall young man with long black hair and a green utility apron was picking up a stray potato which had fallen from a display in front of the cramped little supermarket next to Florean Fortesque's.

After watching a old couple bicker over gossip concerning Mr. Ollivander whilst they made their way up the street to Gringotts, Pat walked over to her bed and began to unpack her trunk. She had just finished stuffing her last pair of pajamas into the corner dresser - which proved difficult, as the dresser didn't seem to like these strange, new clothes much, and kept spitting them back out - when she heard Jim's voice.

"Pat, would you mind coming down a minute?"

Pat gave the dresser drawer a hearty shove and made her way briskly downstairs to the storefront. Jim was sitting on a large wooden crate, looking very anxious; this was hardly surprising, as loud gnashing and clunking sounds were emitting from the crate, which was shaking violently.

"Oh good! I'm sorry, I know you must be busy unpacking, but I'm having a bit of a time here!"

"Oh don't worry," said Pat, jumping slightly as there was an exceptionally loud snap from the crate, "I wasn't doing anything important. Er, what do you need me to do?"

"Well, we've finally got our shipment of Stress-Free Shears - scissors that cut patterns and such by themselves, you know," said Jim, not looking remotely stress-free himself, "But someone at the warehouse must have set them to shred before shipping them or something. They're going mad in there! I expect there's going to be a fair amount of product damage..." He glanced rather helplessly at the rattling mass beneath him. "Anyway, d'you think you could give it a good stun? The whole lot of them, I mean. I can't quite reach my wand myself, and the bloke who dropped them off was quite keen to clear off and away from them before I could ask a hand..."

"Of course!" said Pat quickly, drawing out her wand and aiming it squarely at the crate, careful not to point at Jim, "_Stupefy!_"

The violent shaking and clashing ceased almost immediately, and Jim heaved a great sigh of relief.

"I'm so sorry to have called you down, but Annie was busy with a customer, and I don't expect it would look too good for us if we can't even control our own merchandise."

"Not a problem!" said Pat, grinning, and scanning the store for Anne, "Anything to help!" She finally spied Anne advising a customer on the different varieties of bandages: the same man who had been stocking displays outside the supermarket.

"...so you can understand why we need you!"

"Sorry?" said Pat, blinking and looking back to Jim, "What were you saying?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Jim kindly, "Look, you must be tired - you only just got off school, after all! Go have a rest, do whatever you want. Annie and I won't bother you until your shifts start tomorrow."

He smiled and went over to help an elderly lady who was trying to reach a box of Krup Biscuits on the topmost shelf without much success. Pat looked around hurriedly to the bandage section, but Anne was now straightening the rows of Mertlap essence vials, and the dark-haired man was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

"...And 4 knuts is your change, have a nice day, madam!"

Pat yanked the receipt slip out of the cash register and crumpled it up as the customer, a stately woman in emerald green robes, walked out of the store, carrying her purchase, a small box of Cure-All Wart Remover. Squinting one eye slightly to better her aim, she pitched the balled receipt at the nearby wastebasket; it hit the outside edge and bounced behind a display of Sleek-Eazy's hair tonic. She sighed and leaned on the counter, looking around boredly. Anne was heavily into her morning sickness and couldn't work the storefront today, so there was no chance for Pat to have a coffee break.

She hopped off her stool at the register and sauntered over to the magazine section. As she flipped through a teenage beauty publication, she happened to look out the store windows: her eye caught the figure of the dark-haired young man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the supermarket. She leaned against the magazine rack, watching him, and absently flipping the pages of her magazine without reading them.

_He's reasonably good-looking_ she thought to herself, _Bit gangly I suppose, but not bad. Wonder how long he's been working there..._

Pat suddenly became aware that he'd stopped sweeping and was looking right back at her. She gave a slight squeak and hid her face resolutely behind her magazine. A minute or so later she dared to peek; he'd gone. Relieved, Pat put her magazine back on the rack and wandered back to her counter. She flopped down on the stool and put her forehead down on the counter, breathing a plaintive sigh of boredom. Mornings were always ridiculously slow for business.

"Excuse me, miss?"

"Hmm?" said Pat, looking up. She gave a start and fell backward off her stool and into the glass case of pipe tobacco behind her. It shuddered and wobbled dangerously, but luckily did not fall.

"Are you OK?" said the dark-haired man, leaning cautiously over the counter top and peering down at her.

"Fine," breathed Pat, clutching her stomach with one hand as she grabbed onto the counter with her other and got to her feet, "Just - startled me!"

"I'm sorry, I certainly didn't mean to," said the man, looking genuinely apologetic.

"That's alright, I - well, I'm just a klutz," said Pat, who could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment, as she brushed dust off her sweater, "Is there, um, anything I can help you with, sir?"

"What? Oh, right. I was looking for...some...paint!" he said, finally grasping on an item, "Something bright - for our signs, at the supermarket."

"Oh, you work over there?" said Pat in what she hoped was a casual tone.

"Yea..." he said, raising one eyebrow slightly. After a moment's silence he said, "So...paint?"

"Oh! I'm so sorry - sir," said Pat, now feeling like a complete idiot, "Over here..."

She led him down the far aisle to the hardware section, stopping at a carefully stacked pyramid of paint cans.

"Here we go: super permanent, flashing, colour-changing, self-embossing...Anything in particular?"

"Just something that'll go onto a sign-board nicely," he said, picking out two cans of luminescent cardinal red, "I think this'll do it."  
He looked over toward Pat, who nodded in some form of agreement, but said nothing. Finally, he said, "Um...Can I pay now?"

"P - Oh! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," squeaked Pat, hurrying over to the till and trying not to look him in the eye, "That's 4 sickles, 3 knuts please sir."

"You new here?" he asked as he dug around in the pockets of his apron for some change.

Pat nodded sheepishly, her face burning. "My sister owns this place. I'm staying with her for now and sort of - helping out."

He nodded knowingly and counted some coins out onto the counter. "I think that should be enough."

Pat quickly summed the money up, trying very hard to avoid his gaze, and deposited it in the cash register drawer. Handing him his receipt, she said "Thank you, sir. Hope it works out for you."

He nodded, picked up his paint cans and headed for the door.

Pat rubbed her temples vigorously, furious with herself; _Aaaah! Stupid, stupid, stupid! What is wrong with you! Why can't you –_

"Miss?"

Pat looked up abruptly, just nearly avoiding falling off her seat again.  
He was looking back at her from the doorway, a smile splitting his face. "You don't have to call me 'sir' - it's Ty."

He winked broadly at her and stepped out into the alley, leaving Pat staring after him, her mouth slightly open. After several moments she seemed to come to her senses and managed to squeak out a very late reply of "...Pat!"

----------------

Pat waved a moth impatiently away from her; she turned her eyes to the window and it quietly closed. As nice as it was to have a bit of a breeze on a night like this, Pat wasn't one to enjoy the company of insects that were likely to fly in her face when she least expected it. Settling back down on her bed, her back against the wall and a notebook resting on her pajama-clad knees, she looked intently at the candle on her bedside table which, after a split second, burned more brightly. She smiled in a vaguely self-satisfied sort of way; it seemed her non-verbal spell work wasn't quite as bad as Professor Flitwick had given her credit for. She shook her head, trying not to think of Hogwarts - it would only make this letter harder to write. Exhaling deeply, so that her fringe was momentarily blown away from her face, she tilted her head to one side, wondering how best to begin. After a moment, she scribbled out the obvious first line:

_Dear Bitsy,_

Pat hesitated. On the one hand, she felt sure that Bitsy was going to hate this letter, perhaps hate _her_ for this letter, but on the other hand, it had to be done. No, Bitsy wouldn't hate her, she would understand - she hoped so, anyway. Pat bit her lip and reluctantly continued.

_Hope your Easter's been good! Always nice to get away from school for a bit. Wasn't sure where you were going, but I expect it was your mum's right? How are she and Hamish? I don't suppose his hearing's gotten any better, has it? Ha, and I suppose your mum tried to serve ham again this year - if not it'll be a miracle! I know how you feel, but I'd much rather have that than haggis._

Pat couldn't help but smile; she could picture Bitsy's reaction to her mother's undying attempts to thwart her daughter's vegetarianism perfectly, and it would never cease to amuse her. She shook her head and continued to write.

_Can't remember if I told you, but I've been at Anne's these hols. You know, she's got that place above her shop in Diagon Alley? Anyway, yea, so I've been helping out her and Jim and living upstairs with them. Well not __with__ them but you know what I mean. They've been really good about it and they're paying me too; a little bit of cha-ching never hurts! Not the most exciting job, but on the bright side I've met_

She stopped, and considered. She knew what she _wanted_ to write, that she'd not only seen but actually _talked to_ the gorgeous guy from across the street. On the other hand, she also knew that if she wrote it then she might as well not write the rest of the letter, because once Bitsy read those words the parchment would be on a one-way trip to the common room fire. A part of her felt almost bitter that she couldn't share this information with Bitsy, something any other _normal_ friend would probably be happy for her about. But with Bitsy it was different: every time Pat had brought up the subject of boys, who she had a crush on or who'd asked her to dance at the Yule Ball, she always regretted it. Bitsy would become cross or moody and would be completely unreasonable about continuing a normal conversation for quite some time afterward. Pat suspected it was some kind of jealousy, but Bitsy would never admit it. Nonetheless, she sighed and finished the sentence in an almost truthful way:

_...I've met some pretty interesting people._

_Anyway, there's a real reason I'm writing to you. I expect now that you're back at school - or at least you probably will be by the time you get this - you'll have noticed that I'm not exactly...there. Bits', I hope you'll understand, but I'm not coming back to Hogwarts. Not this year anyway. Maybe next year I'll take seventh year over or something. I just can't do it. I need time to sort my life out, sort myself out. And I need to find myself a real place to live. Annie's been great to me, but I can't realistically live here for any extended period of time. And obviously I can't go back home. So I'm looking for a flat right now, though no luck yet. I'm really sorry I'm leaving you Bits'...You know I'll miss you loads, and I'll try to write every week! I hope you won't hate me too much for doing this. I wouldn't be if I didn't think it were necessary._

_Hope you write back!  
Your friend forever,_

_Patricia Lauren-Eileen Lacey_

Pat, who had felt like she'd been holding her breath, exhaled so deeply that the candle on her bedside table flickered so dangerously, she thought it might go out. She read over her letter once more, a slight lump in her throat. For a moment she considered ripping it up, but she knew it needed to be sent.

Sighing, she folded it up, slipped it into an envelope, and tiptoed downstairs. Feeling fairly confident that she hadn't woken Jim or Anne, she opened the door to the shop front. Sitting motionless on his perch, his head beneath one wing, was Jim's owl, Tribble. Pat gave him a gentle prod, and he lifted his head, blinking sleepily. She tied the envelope to one of his legs and coaxed him onto her forearm. She unlocked the shop's front door and opened it about a foot.

"Go on, Tribble, it's for Elizabeth, at Hogwarts. Hufflepuff table," she whispered, giving him an encouraging scratch beneath his beak. Tribble gave a low hoot and took off from her arm, flying down the street until he was swallowed up by the night. Pat stood in the doorway for a moment, a last pang of regret playing at her heart. But it was soon washed away by a sense of confidence that she has done the right thing.


	3. Chapter 3

"Pat, did you use Tribble for anything?" said Jim, poking his head through the kitchen door.

"Hmm?" said Pat, looking up from her cereal bowl, the contents of which she'd been absently stirring, "Oh, er, yea. I sent a letter to Hogwarts last night. I'm sorry, I know I should've asked."

"That's alright," said Jim, kissing the top of Anne's head and sitting down next to her at the table, "You're welcome to use him, but let me know next time; I was hoping to send a letter to a supplier, but I suppose it can wait."

Pat mumbled another apology as she spooned up a mouthful of very soggy cereal. Anne was eying her somewhat suspiciously.

"Why did you need to send a letter to school?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, "You're going back tomorrow morning. What couldn't wait for a day?"

There was a long silence punctuated only by a soft clunk as Jim put his coffee mug back on the table. Finally, Pat muttered "I'm not going back to school."

Another silence. "You're what?" said Anne, exchanging looks with Jim.

"I'm not going back to school."

"What do you mean you're not going back to school?" exclaimed Anne, a little louder than she'd intended, "You're in seventh year, you're almost done. Why are you quitting now?!"

"I'm not _quitting,_" said Pat irritably, "I'm just not going back right now. I'll go back next year and finish it off then. It's just – I'm not – This has been a bad year, Anne-"

"Oh, everyone has bad years!" said Anne, looking cross, "Seventh year is hard, it wasn't a cakewalk for any of us, but you'll get through it!"

"No, you don't understand," said Pat, shaking her head, "Anne, it was worse than that for me. I'm lucky I'm even here now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Anne, I didn't want to tell you," said Pat, feeling a pinch in her stomach as she recalled the past few months, "but I haven't been myself this year. My marks have been horrible, dad's been horrible about it, and I just - I couldn't take it anymore. I stopped eating. I stopped eating and I was throwing up all the time. And you know what? I didn't care. It felt good to be empty like that. But it went too far and I ended up in the hospital wing for a good month. I'd only been out for a few weeks before the holidays started."

She waited for Anne to say something, but her sister was merely staring at her, tight lipped, from across the table.

"You told me I looked peaky when I first got here, and that's why. And you know what? This is the best I've looked in ages. It was downright scary, and I don't want to fall into that again. I need this time, Anne. I can't go back yet. I know you don't like it, but I've made up my mind. I need to do this."

"Why didn't you tell us when it was happening?" said Anne finally, "I'm sure we could've done _something_ to help."

"No," said Pat, "you would've told dad, and you know how that would've gone over. I told Mags, but only because I know she's not a blab."

Anne glared at her. "Whatever you may think, Patricia, I happen to care a lot about you. Whatever happened at school, I don't think you've thought this decision through. I mean _leaving school_!"

"I have thought it through, actually. I'm not leaving forever, just for now. I'll go back next year and finish it off."

"Oh Trisha, it's not that easy!" said Anne, pleadingly, "You think you'll go back now but...Going back after dropping out-"

"I am _not_ dropping out!" said Pat defiantly. Anne ignored her and continued.

"If you go back after dropping out, into the lower year, where people _know_ you don't fit in - you think they won't talk about you behind your back? That they won't have their own versions as to why you're taking the year over? You think they won't think you're stupid!?"

"They won't think that!" exclaimed Pat angrily, "I know people in that year - Bitsy and Lindsey - I'll fit in well enough. And I don't _care_ if people make up their own stupid stories about me. I'll be _fine_!"

"Oh it's easy to say that now!" cried Anne, getting as frustrated with Pat as Pat was with her, "Just wait...After a few months of living away from school, you may think you don't _need_ that final year - which I can tell you right now is absolute-"

"Excuse me ladies..." said Jim awkwardly, getting up from the table and backing out of the room, tactfully avoiding the possibility of Anne asking him to back her up.

"You just wait, Patricia, in a month or so it'll seem much easier to just keep living live without having graduated. But if you do that you'll never amount to _anything_!" she seethed, "Just look at the Abernethy boy across the road!"

"Who?" asked Pat, her tone a little more hostile than she intended.

"Tybalt Abernethy!" said Anne impatiently, "You know who I mean - tall, with the ponytail...He stocks shelves at Drysart & Sons Grocers."

"Oh," said Pat, finally comprehending, "You mean Ty!"

"Oh, so you've met him, have you? Well let me tell you," said Anne, "don't let him set an example for you. He was in my year at Hogwarts. He didn't even wait to start seventh year - dropped out after OWLs. And what's become of him? The best job he'll ever get is working in his uncle's shop."

"_You_ work in a shop," said Pat spitefully, "And _you_ didn't drop out."

"I _own_ my shop," said Anne, her eyes narrowing slightly, "There's a rather large difference between running a store and sweeping chewing gum off the front walkway, so I'll thank you not to try using _that_ line on me again, Patricia."

Pat said nothing, choosing instead to look moodily at the tabletop, her arms crossed defiantly.

"The _point_ is, that's someone who decided education wasn't terribly important. Do you want to end up like that? Stuck in some menial job for the rest of your life? You're better than that, Patricia!"

"I never said I didn't think education was important!" said Pat hotly, "I've told you, I'm going back! I'm going to finish!"

"I pray to god you're still thinking that way when September comes around," said Anne, shaking her head, "I've lived here for five years, Patricia. If you want to see what becomes of people who stop their schooling short, look around you: Gregor Kerr, he cleans out cages at Eyelops; Andy Sherlock, he spends his time trying to pawn off fake amulets on tourists; Madison Everard, sweeps up clippings at the barber's for an absolute _pittance_ of a wage...I don't want you to end up like that! I don't want you to give up on your dreams!"

Pat looked away from the tabletop and up at her sister. She could tell Anne was serious, that she was genuinely concerned.

"Anne," she said, as calmly as she could, "You don't have to worry. I'm going back. And, if for some reason, when September comes, I tell you I don't need to go back, you have my permission to put me in a body-bind and drag me back up to Hogwarts."

Anne sighed and finally smiled, though her face was still flushed from shouting. "I don't mean to make you angry, I just worry about you, Trisha. You're my baby sister, I don't want you to do anything you'll regret."

"I know," sighed Pat, "But trust me, I know what I'm doing."


	4. Chapter 4

It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and the sun was streaming through the window of Pat's bedroom, illuminating everything in its 2 foot diameter of light. Pat lay on her back, her knees bent, on her carefully made bed, reading the copy of _Notable Remedies and the Healers Who Use Them_ she was holding above her head; she had covered the morning rush so Anne could, again, stay off the floor should her morning sickness decide to revisit. It was uneventful, bordering on dull, without any schoolwork to do, and no friends to talk to. Once or twice Pat had almost considered admitting defeat and making her way back to Hogwarts; but, she reminded herself, this was impossible - even if she did go back now, she'd be so far behind that she'd end up worse than when she left.

She sighed as she turned the page, listening to the bell at the front door give a resounding ding as each customer went in or out, catching snippets of conversations and of Jim giving people advice on which product to buy.

"Trisha?"

"What?" Pat called back, laying her book down on her chest and listening intently for the response.

"Someone wants to see you!"

Pat furrowed her brow in thought as she dog-eared her book and laid it down on her bed before heading toward the stairs. Who would want to see her? All her friends were still at Hogwarts. She doubted that her father or brother would want to see her, or, if they did, would bother to take the time to come all the way to London. At the bottom of the stairs, she met Anne.

"What? Who is it? Who wants to see me?"

"Well, the exact description was 'the quiet, dark-haired girl who works here'," said Anne, raising an eyebrow, "I don't know where he got the idea that you're quiet, but I can only assume he meant you."

"_Who_?"

"Tybalt Abernethy," said Anne, looking disapproving as she brushed a bit of soot off the sleeve of her frock, "What's this all about?"

"Damned if I know," said Pat, looking equally confused, "I hope I didn't sell him the wrong paint or something."

"Well, he's at the counter," said Anne briskly, "Mind you don't stand around chatting though; it's not good for business."

Pat rolled her eyes and wandered out into the shop front; she immediately spotted Ty, who was fiddling absently with a bright red revealer from the counter display. "Hi," she said, somewhat more quietly than she intended as she approached him. He gave a start and dropped the revealer, which bounced all the way down the hardware aisle.

"Sorry," he mumbled, chasing after it, and bringing it back to the counter, "I didn't hear you behind me!"

"Er, sorry," said Pat awkwardly. After a moment, she continued, "Sooo...My sister said you wanted to see me?"

"Anne's your sister?" he said, raising an eyebrow, "I'd forgotten. You two don't look anything alike."

"Yea, I know," said Pat, looking at the floor, "She looks more like my mum's side."

There was an another awkward silence.

"Right," said Ty finally, "so I don't think we really got off on the right foot."

Pat secretly felt that she couldn't agree more; falling backward off your seat was hardly the way to make a good first impression.

"...so I was wondering if you wanted to go for a coffee or something? If you're not working right now, that is."

"No, I shift the morning got - I mean _I got the morning shift_" said Pat, going very red, "I mean...Well, no, I'm not working right now."

"So is that a yes?" said Ty, raising an eyebrow and looking quizzically at her.

Pat nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.

"Excellent," he said, going over to the front door and holding it open, "After you!"

Pat grinned and walked out through the door and into Diagon Alley. She blinked as the sunlight hit her for the first time after being indoors for so long.

"You have any preferences on where we go?" asked Ty as he stepped out behind her.

"Not really," said Pat, looking around, "As long as it's far enough away that Anne can't spy on us - not that she would, but I'd rather not have that possibility all the same," she added quickly.

"Right," said Ty, grinning, "This is going to sound stupid, but I still don't think I know your name."

"It's Patricia," said Pat, "But almost everyone calls me Pat. Not the most exciting name, but my dad decided to name me after his aunt. I guess after the other three they were running out of decent names."

"I think it's cute," said Ty, considering, "You look like a Pat."

"Oh gosh, thanks," laughed Pat, rolling her eyes, "And you're Ty, right?"

"Yep," said Ty, as he led the way down the street, "Tybalt Channing Abernethy. Gross, isn't it? That's why I go by 'Ty'; I always thought 'Tybalt' sounded like a name for kind of all-purpose stain remover or something."

"Now that you mention it - just joking!" she laughed, as he elbowed her playfully in the arm, "Fine, then I promise I won't call you 'Tybalt'."

"Ha, you better not! So, how long you been out of Hogwarts?" he asked, as they turned a corner.

"Er, I'm not exactly _out_ yet," said Pat awkwardly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans, "I'm taking my seventh year over next year. Some stuff happened a few months ago, so I can't really finish it this year."

"Ahh," said Ty, nodding, "I had to drop out after my fifth year. My dad had a pretty bad accident, and I had to go take care of him. By the time he died, it was already halfway through sixth year, and there was no point in going back. Wouldn't have made a difference; I only got five OWLs anyway. But ah, I'm doing alright for myself."

Pat nodded silently, trying not to think of her conversation with Anne.

"Anyway...Here we are," said Ty, stopping outside a little redbrick coffee shop set between Flourish and Blott's and a dusty-looking shop with a 'FOR LEASE' sign in the front window; the sign hanging above the front door read 'Stir Crazy - Coffee, Baked Goods, Firecrackers'.

"Bit of an unusual combination," said Pat, as she walked through the door Ty was holding open for her.

"I know," said Ty, grinning, "You should see the place at Halloween; nobody gets more business! One of my best mates runs the place, but he's off in China right now - research, you know."

"I see," said Pat, smiling somewhat uncertainly, as she sat down at one of the many mahogany tables. Over in a corner, two witches were playing a game of dominoes, and at the counter, a barista was swatting at a stray Catherine Wheel that was threatening to overturn a large canister of hazelnut syrup.

"Anything specific you want?" asked Ty, absently brushing a loose strand of hair from his face.

"Just a tea is great; chai if they make it," said Pat, putting her elbows on the tabletop and resting her chin in her upturned hands.

"Sure thing," said Ty, nodding and heading toward the counter, where the barista, a tall 20-something wizard with horn-rimmed glasses and a labrette, was wiping up a spill.

A slight smile played at Pat's lips as she sneaked a look at Ty while his back was turned. _Not bad, not bad at all...And he certainly seems nice enough...Wonder why Anne is all uptight about him._

She was in the midst of gazing dreamily at the back of Ty's head, when he turned around; she hastily averted her gaze to the window, and did her best to pretend that she was fascinated by a lamp post on the opposite side of the street. He approached the table, grinning somewhat smugly, and set an oversized white mug in front of her.

"Ginger and cardamom," he said, sitting opposite her and taking a sip of his coffee, "Hope you like it. If it's rubbish, let me know and I'll go rough up Rory for you." He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the barista. Rory gave a somewhat nervous-looking wave.

"I'm sure it'll be great," said Pat, wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them up, "How much do I owe you?"

"Owe me?" said Ty, laughing, "That wouldn't make me look too good; asking you to grab a coffee with me, and then making you pay? Ha, I don't think so, Pat."

Pat shrugged. "There's no need to try to be a gentleman or anything, I can pay for myself."

"Oh come off it," laughed Ty, "I'm certainly not doing this to be a 'gentleman'. I just think fair is fair, and since this was my idea, I'm footing the bill. Capish?"

"Suit yourself," said Pat jokingly, "If I'd known, I would've gotten something more expensive!"

"Hey, I'm not Gringotts here!" said Ty, pretending to be offended, "I'm just a bloody fruit and veg man! Have mercy!"

"Never!" said Pat, grinning and kicking him playfully under the table.

"Easy on the shins, woman! I won't be able to do a decent kick-off with banged up legs, thank you!"

"You fly?" said Pat, taking a sip of her chai and tilting her head lazily to one side.

"Not so much anymore," said Ty, "Don't really have the time. But once in a while the boys and I have a bit of a gamble on who can make it from the Leaky Cauldron to the end of the alley and back in the best time, loser buys pints. I haven't been beaten in months!"

"Ha, I bet I could cream you with my hands tied behind my back!" exclaimed Pat, her eyes lighting up in the way made possible only by talk of broom racing, "What're you riding?"

"Cleansweep 7," he said, "You're a racer? I would've thought you'd be too tall for a girl."

"Oh you're no dwarf yourself!" said Pat sarcastically, but looking excited all the same, "And for your information I was the 1994 Bath Headlong half-KM champion! On a Comet 290! Mixed division too, so it doesn't make a ruddy difference how tall I am!"

"Half-K..." scoffed Ty, waving his hand dismissively, "Sprints are for fairweather fliers...Distance is a whole different deal."

"Diagon Alley _hardly_ qualifies as distance!" cried Pat, feeling slightly offended, "I'll take you on tonight, Ty Abernethy, and then we'll see who can't be beat!"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down!" said Ty, putting up his hands, "I had no idea you were such a fanatic!"

"Not a _fanatic_," said Pat, now feeling slightly embarrassed, "I just..take racing seriously is all."

"That," said Ty, grinning, "is evident. Tell you what, you are officially invited to the next race, OK?"

"Deal," said Pat, sipping her chai, her cheeks still slightly flushed.

"Just remember, loser buys drinks, no exceptions!"

"You better bring your gold then!" said Pat, grinning.

Ty shook his head and smirked, before sipping his coffee. Pat absently traced her finger around the rim of her own mug, smiling with some satisfaction.

"So," said Ty finally, "Before you left Hogwarts, what were you planning on doing with yourself? You know, career wise?"

"I haven't left, I'm just taking a break," Pat corrected him firmly, unpleasantly reminded of Anne, "But anyway, I'm studying to become an assistant healer, hopefully at St. Mungo's."

"Assistant? Not going for the whole she-bang?"

"Nah," said Pat, as she drained the last bit of tea out of her mug, and peered casually into it, examining the tea leaves, "I dunno, it never really interested me. I'd rather do all the behind-the-scenes helpful stuff. Just helping people get better without the prestige."

"OK, it's official, you're a weird one," laughed Ty.

"Am not!" said Pat, sticking her tongue out, then added, "Well, I don't exactly have the marks for a full-fledged healer anyway. My Charms and Potions were never really quite there."

"Potions was my best subject, only thing I was half-decent at," said Ty, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, "It also helped that I was on Snape's good side. Couldn't go too far wrong."

"I wasn't aware that Snape had a good side," laughed Pat, "He doesn't even like my sister-in-law, and she's absolutely _brilliant_ at Potions. The only people he likes are Slytherins..."

"Mm-hmm," murmured Ty, a sly smile splitting his face.

"Wait...You're not...Are you?"

"A Slytherin? Son of the serpent? A supporter of the green-and-silver?" said Ty, grinning, "That I am. Or was. Or am...I don't know."

"Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin," said Pat, somewhat morosely, "I never would've guessed."

"Yea, contrary to popular belief, we're not all sniveling, drippy, little dorkwads," laughed Ty, "And you're clearly a Gryffindor."

"Smart one, you are," said Pat, somewhat relieved that he wasn't going all house-rivalry on her, "I don't have the brains of a Ravenclaw, and I'm not nearly enough of a straight-arrow to be a Hufflepuff, so I don't suppose there was much've a selection after that."

"That, and I've never known a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff to be so brash about kicking people in the shins as you are," said Ty, laughing, and then wincing slightly as he was assaulted by Pat's feet again, "That wasn't an invitation!"

"Oh I couldn't resist. I only do it to people I know can take it."

"I won't be able to, if you keep it up!" said Ty, reaching down and massaging his left leg, "You know, if you weren't so cute I'd be tempted to get mad!"

Pat stuck her tongue out, secretly feeling extremely pleased.

"Let's see," said Ty, taking her empty cup and peering into it, "Wonder if my divination's up to scratch..."

"Ha, you're going to read my future from a bunch of tea leaves I've probably gobbed all over?" laughed Pat, "Get real. I don't believe in that junk."

"Oooh, interesting," murmured Ty, peering more closely at the bottom of Pat's mug, "Now this is _very_ unusual..."

"What?" said Pat, leaning forward to look.

Ty pulled the mug towards him, shielding it from Pat's view. "I thought you didn't believe in this 'junk'."

"Oh come on, you can't say 'Oooooh, so interesting!' and then not let me know _what_'s so interesting!"

"Nuh-uh," said Ty, refusing to let her see the mug, "I don't waste my time of non-believers."

"OK, fine, I believe," said Pat, rolling her eyes, "Now what's so interesting? _Please_?"

"Well," relented Ty, tipping the mug forward so she could see its contents, and pointing with one finger, "In this corner, we've got a daisy. The daisy is positioned a bit below and to the right of this shape up here by the handle, which I interpret to be a teapot. The positioning means progression from one to the next, teapot to daisy."

"Um, what the hell are you talking about?" said Pat, squinting, "I can see the shapes, and that sort of cat-looking thingy in between them...but what do they _mean_?"

"I guess you should've paid more attention in Divination class," Ty teased.

"Oh come on, that's not fair! I took Runes instead!" protested Pat.

"Well OK," sighed Ty, "The teapot is a symbol for friendship or a meeting of friends."

"Why, does the spirit realm or whatever expect you to have your friends for tea or something?" said Pat, raising an eyebrow, "Although I suppose that's kind of what we're doing right now." Ty nodded. "So the teapot means friendship. What about the flower?"

"The daisy is a symbol for a new love," said Ty, examining the tea cup intently, not looking at Pat.

"Oh..." she said very quietly, her cheeks flushing, "I see. So...What about that thing over there? It kind of looks like a necklace, but it's all...blotchy and broken up."

"No idea," said Ty, shrugging, "I think I remember hearing that a broken necklace means _something_ I just don't know what."

"Well fat lot of good that does!"

"I don't see you doing any better, Miss I-Took-Runes!" said Ty, mocking offense.

"Oh whatever. So what does it all mean together?" asked Pat tentatively.

"Well, you'll meet a friend, and in a short time you will have a new love." said Ty seriously.

"Hmm," said Pat, her cheeks burning again, "What about the cat-looking thing?"

"I don't think that's a cat, just a clump of remnants," said Ty, glancing at the cup, "Don't think it's anything specific. Unless you plan on meeting someone resembling a brown bush, that is."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

"What time is it?" asked Ty suddenly, "Sorry, I must've left my watch in my apron pocket."

Pat rolled up her left sleeve and squinted at the underside of her wrist. "Quarter to three, looks like," she said, watching the various shapes of her tattoo wriggle into formation.

"Ooh. Hate to do this," said Ty apologetically, "But I've gotta go. I'm on my lunch break, and I really should've been back about five minutes ago. Hope you don't think I'm being a total ass to leave you like this."

"Not a problem," said Pat, though she privately felt a little disappointed that he had to go so soon, "I know how it is to be on a schedule. It was great doing this, though, thanks for asking me out - I mean, asking me to coffee - I mean, well, thanks."

"My pleasure," grinned Ty, "Maybe we could do it again some time."

"That sounds great," said Pat, somewhat more quietly than was normal, then in a more joking tone, "And next time I'll remember to order something more expensive."

"Don't even think about it!" laughed Ty, "I'll see you around, Pat."

And with that, he vanished with a loud _crack_.

Pat did not get up to leave right away. She continued to sit at the little table, turning her mug around in her hands, staring into nothingness, thinking. There were some things about him that made her sure that Ann would not approve of her spending time with him: his disregard for education and satisfaction with his current position, his confident attitude that bordered almost on arrogance, the fact that he was a Slytherin...But what business was it of hers?

_I'm eighteen, for God's sake,_ thought Pat fiercely, _And even though she's helping me out, it's still my life. I got away from dad so I didn't have to deal with this, so I'm sure as hell not going to take it from her._

Pat shook her head, and looked absently looking into her mug; the shapes Ty had been studying earlier had now merged into one big soggy mess, tiny flecks of cardamom clinging desperately to the porcelain sides. She wondered what all those symbols had meant, whether or not Ty had just been pulling her leg. Smiling to herself, she decided that whatever happened, a bunch of old tea leaves had nothing to do with it. Sighing, she leaned back in her seat and disapparated with an instantaneous crack.


	5. Chapter 5

"Letter for you, Trisha!"

"Coming!" called Pat, hoisting a large box of pocket-sized telescopes onto the top shelf of the store-room; Jim's supplier had sent a double order that morning and four hours later it still wasn't completely stocked. Puffing slightly, she climbed down the ladder and walked out into the kitchen. "Does it say who it's from?

"No, but whoever it is isn't pleased with you," said Anne, holding the red envelope delicately out for Pat, pinched between her forefinger and thumb.

"A howler?" asked Pat in exasperation, "But who - oh. Mind if I take this upstairs then? Wouldn't want any customers to get a blast of this, and the upstairs door will at least muffle it a bit."

"Of course," said Anne, nodding, then, "Trisha, if it's who I think it's from - I'm sure he doesn't mean - well, just don't go to hard by it."

Pat nodded. She had been thinking the exact same thing. "Not to worry - I'm a Gryffindor, remember? Thick skin!"

"Right," said Anne, smiling, "From what I've heard, you lot are a bit thick-_headed_ too."

Pat rolled her eyes, and ascended the staircase at a bit of a jog, the envelope in her hands billowing acrid, black smoke. She slipped into her room, slammed the door shut and threw the letter onto the floor in front of her, before jamming her fingers in her ears, hoping to deaden the sound: a 90-decibal lecture from her father wasn't exactly the kind of mail she had hoped to receive, much less have ringing in her ears for weeks.

But as the envelope burst open, the shrill voice that emanated from it was not that of Reginald Lacey.

_"How could you, Lacey!"_

Pat's eyes widened in absolute shock.

_"Friday before hols and it's 'Oh, right on, see you in a week or so!' - now you've decided to just up and __**leave**__! I know you've had your problems, but are you an absolute __**moron**__! You were nearly __**done**__, Lacey, and now you're throwing it all away? __**Get a grip**__! What happened to all your plans, your dreams? Are you telling me you're just going to give up on being a healer? I thought maybe this was some kind of stupid joke at first, but now it's been three weeks past the end of holidays and you're still not back...What are you thinking!"_

"I'm not giving up!" cried Pat, forgetting that she was talking to a letter, "I'm coming back! It's just too hard right now...But I'm _not_ giving up!"

_"And if that's not enough, I was talking with Simon Pitches a few days ago - he was down at Diagon Alley on the weekend to get a new wand...Stupid git sat on the last one and broke it clean in two...But that's not the point! He told me the most __interesting_ _story about a certain_ _someone he saw down near Flourish and Blott's! That's right, I mean __**you**__ Patricia Lacey! Having coffee! With a boy!"_

"Oh god..." groaned Pat, burying her face in her hands.

_"I have it on good authority, Lacey, that this boy you were with is a __**Slytherin**__**Have you lost your bloody mind!?**__ You may have accused me of being a Slytherin-hater in the past which, I can assure you, is quite true, but at least you seemed to have the sense to agree that they're not to be trusted! And yet now you apparently think it jolly good fun to go out with one! And again I ask you, __**have you lost your mind**__!"_

"But he's not _like_ that!" protested Pat to the letter. Naturally, it did not respond, but its tone did seem to be calming somewhat.

_"Pat...I don't know what you're thinking, but I am seriously worried about you. This is __**not**__ like you to just run off and all. And then this Slytherin guy...Simon said he looked at __**least**__ four years older than you. Just...come back, Pat. Whatever you're having problems with, I want to help you through it, mate! But this is not cool!"_

Then, in a sudden rush of renewed emotion, _"And that bloody bird you sent me the letter with has flown off with my Muggle Studies essay! That was a fun one to explain! What the bloody hell are you teaching your animals!"_

The envelope exhaled one last puff of smoke and both it and the letter burst into flames; the little clouds of ash hovered in mid-air for a moment before falling gently to the ground. Pat sank to the floor, her eyes still wide with disbelief; she had thought that, of all people, Bitsy would understand.

Trying very hard to keep back the tears of disappointment, she opened her bedroom door and hurried down the stairs. She pushed past Anne, not wanting to discuss the letter – most of which she had undoubtedly heard through the ceiling – and walked through the shop's door into the Alley. She made it as far as post office before she broke down. Ducking into a back alley, she slumped down next to a heap of discarded produce crates, buried her head in her arms, and began to sob.

_It's not like this was unexpected_, thought Pat bitterly,_ You knew this wasn't going to end well when you sent that letter. But a howler... Even no reply would've been better. _She sniffled, rubbing her eyes savagely with a bent wrist. _It's not your fault, _she assured herself, _Bitsy's always thought of herself before anyone else. She says it's because she's worried about you, but even she knows that she's just mad that you left all alone at th-_

"Er, are you OK?"

Pat started and looked up, blinking through her now-raw, red eyes. Ty was looking quizzically down at her, a produce crate in his hands.

"I'm fine," she Pat defiantly, wiping her nose and looking away, embarrassed that she'd been caught in such a state.

"You sure?" said Ty, tossing the crate aside and crouching down beside her. Pat started slightly as he put an arm around her shoulders.

"I-" began Pat hesitantly, "Well, I just got a letter from a friend. She's pretty...upset with me. She doesn't think it's a good idea that I'm not at school right now."

"A friend that gets mad when you make the decision that's best for you?" said Ty, "Doesn't sound like much of a friend to me."

"No, it's not like that," said Pat, sniffling again as she shook her head, "She just gets a little overemotional sometimes."

"Look, Pat," said Ty, rubbing her shoulder gently, "if she's not supporting you in this decision, she clearly doesn't have your best interests at heart. She's made you cry, for Christ's sake."

Pat didn't say anything. She knew this wasn't exactly right, but she didn't know how to respond without having to explain Bitsy to him, something she didn't feel like thinking about at the moment. In any case, the feeling of his hand on her shoulder seemed to have sucked the breath right out of her.

"Come on," said Ty, taking her hand, "we can go back to the shop and get you a tea or something. The trash heap really isn't the best place to be sitting."

Pat swallowed, and after a moment's hesitation, nodded. She allowed Ty to help her to her feet. As they walked back toward Drysart & Son's, she nearly forgot all about Bitsy and the howler, her mind now caught up in the fact that he had not yet let go of her hand.


	6. Chapter 6

"So, tell me about the fruit and veg industry?" said Pat, propping her elbows up on top of a box of Puerto Rican bananas, and tilting her head to one side.

"OK, in three words: dead bloody boring," grunted Ty as he hoisted a rather large crate of Snap Dragon apples onto one of the many weather-beaten display tables in front of Drysart and Sons, "Even more boring at six in the morning. What the heck possessed you to get up this early, anyway? I'm not even going to delve into your being _here_ this early in the morning."

"It's my day off, and I really couldn't sleep in any later," said Pat, shrugging and pulling her sweater sleeves down over her hands. She neglected to mention that the reason she hadn't been able to sleep in was because she'd set her alarm for five thirty.

"You're crazy," said Ty, bending down to pick up a stray apple - a moment happily indulged by Pat, "I can only just roll out of bed this early to stock. Didn't even have time to shave."

"That's OK, you look good with a little stubble," said Pat with a teasing grin.

"Cheeky!" exclaimed Ty, looking somewhat pleased nonetheless, "Mind the tigerfruit."

Pat hastily backed away from the crate on her left, out of which a gnashing, growling sound was echoing.

"So what are your plans for your day off?"

"I dunno," said Pat, shrugging casually, "Thought I'd finish up my book, then maybe go up to Stir Crazy - Rory was asking about having a drink with me, so I thought-"

"He what!" cut Ty, spilling a good portion of the oranges he was carrying, "Rory Iveson asked you out?"

"Something like that," said Pat innocently, pretending to examine her fingernails.

"He - what - that little blighter!" said Ty, completely forgetting about the oranges that were now slowly rolling down the sidewalk.

"What, is something wrong with that?" asked Pat, completely straight faced.

"Well - yes!" said Ty, looking extremely annoyed, "So you're just going to abandon me to run off with some chump who pours coffee for a living?"

"Well he _does_ make a mean chai latte," said Pat, grinning slyly.

"But-"

"Oh relax," said Pat, rolling her eyes and laughing "I'm just kidding! I doubt he even knows my name, much less wants to ask me out."

"So that whole thing - that was just a ruse?" asked Ty, raising an eyebrow.

"Completely. Just messing with you," grinned Pat.

"_Not_ funny," said Ty, still looking slightly upset, "If you were a guy, I'd hex you here and now."

"Ha, but I'm not!" said Pat, sticking her tongue out, "You've got _nothing_, Abernethy! Noth-"

Her words were abruptly cut off as Ty leaned forward and kissed her. A moment later he broke the kiss, and Pat was left standing there, looking slightly dazed. Finally, she exhaled, her breath coming out as a shimmering white cloud in the frosty morning air. "OK, I suppose that's _something_," she said lamely.

"Too right," said Ty, scooping up an orange, and acting as though he'd done nothing more ordinary than tell her the time of day.

"What was that for?" asked Pat breathily, trying desperately to control the butterflies that had taken flight inside her.

"What?" asked Ty, pulling out his wand and using it to summon the remaining oranges from where they'd rolled down the street.

"You – you just kissed me, Ty."

"Well, yea," said Ty, grinning at her, "I figured it was about time, don't you agree?"

"I guess," said Pat quietly, nervously chewing the inside of her lip.

"What, no good?" asked Ty, raising an eyebrow.

"What? No, no!" sputtered Pat, "No, it was...great."

Ty laughed. "Don't tell me that was your first kiss."

"No, of course not!" said Pat dismissively. She didn't want to admit that she'd only had two before that, one being the result of accidentally wandering underneath the mistletoe near pimple-faced Simon Pitches last Christmas; it took all her resolve not to shudder at the recollection of that particular horror.

"Well aren't you little Miss Innocent!" Ty teased, "That's positively cute!"

"Oh shut up," said Pat, throwing an orange at him.

"Oi, careful with those!" said Ty, ducking just in time, "Nathaniel'll have my head if I damage any more fruit!"

"You're no fun at all," said Pat, grinning, thoroughly relieved that the topic had changed.

"Hey, I think your sister wants you," said Ty, jerking his head across the street. Pat turned and saw Anne at the doorway of Magi-Mart, clutching at her stomach and beckoning toward her.

"Oh no, she must have morning sickness again. There goes my day off," sighed Pat, "Well, I guess it was great kissin-I mean talking to you at least."

"Yea same to you," laughed Ty, "You better hurry, she's looking a bit green."

----------------

"Trisha, I need you on the floor in five minutes: Jim's got to sort out our supply order and he can't do that and watch the front at the same time," said Anne, looking rather cross as she poked her head outside the door of the shop.

Pat pulled her face away from Ty's for moment to take a breath and call out, "Coming, coming!"

"Bit of a tyrant, isn't she?" asked Ty, grinning slyly, his arms around her waist.

"Tell me about it," said Pat, rolling her eyes, "She _knows_ I'm going to make my shift, she just likes to nag."

"I get the impression she's not so keen on me, either," said Ty, smirking, "But it's not like that's much of a change. Never really got on at Hogwarts."

"She never got to know you," said Pat, tracing a finger fondly down Ty's neck, "You know, Slytherin stereotype..."

"Or maybe she's just jealous that she had to settle, and her little sister got the real goods," he said, the smirk still lingering on his face.

"Ooh, modest, aren't we?" laughed Pat teasingly, "But really, she didn't settle with Jim, he's good to her. Although good-looking he certainly is n-"

"Two more minutes, Patricia!" called Anne's voice from inside, an obvious note of irritation in it.

"_Coming!_"

"Skive off," whispered Ty, "It's my day off and I've got the upstairs to myself...What d'ya say?"

"Mmm, love to, but such is life: you forget that I need to work if I want to keep living here," sighed Pat, "A veritable ball and chain, if you will..."

"Maybe we can change that..." said Ty, his lips curling into a wry smile.

"Oh yea?" said Pat, "And how do you suppose w-"

"I need you inside _now_ Patricia," said Anne crossly, as she marched outside, her eyes gleaming, "And I daresay I bid you a fond farewell, Abernethy. Not to seem rude, but we have a no loitering policy here."

"Oh for God's sake, Anne..." said Pat, as Ty rolled his eyes.

"I mean it. Both of you. Now Patricia, _in_."

"See you later," said Ty, leaning in and giving her a final kiss, "I'll be at the Leaky Cauldron later tonight, if you want a refuge from the tyrant."

"Sounds like a date," said Pat, giving a small wave before reluctantly entering the store.

Pat shut the door behind her and made her way toward the counter. "Well that was rude of you," snarled Pat at Anne, as she walked by with a clipboard.

"Rude of _me_?" said Anne indignantly, "I own this property and I have every right to tell whomever I please to clear off. I think it's bloody rude of _you_ to stand out there sucking face with someone, right in front of my store. I've worked very hard on this place, and I don't want it to get the wrong reputation!"

"So that's it? You think I'm a tart or something!" said Pat angrily, in such a loud voice that an elderly witch abandoned her careful reading of a slug bait label to watch the argument. Anne grabbed Pat by the arm and walked her forcefully into the back room.

"_Get a grip, Patricia Lauren-Eileen!_" she hissed, "I will not have you yelling in my store!"

"Well, if you w-!"

"You shut up! In answer to your question, no I don't think you're a tart, but you're certainly not doing anything to sway me away from acquiring such a notion! That little exhibition outside just about fits the profile! I've told you before, and I'll tell you again: Ty Abernethy is a bad influence! Just look at you: you've been seeing him for only a couple of weeks and already you're giving me lip!"

"So what?" spat Pat, "It's not like you're my mother!"

"Don't you dare bring mum into this, because I'll tell you right now, she wouldn't take this crap from you. And I don't have to either: I'm your sister, but I'm also your boss, and if you don't get your act together, you're on your own!"

"You wouldn't fire me, you don't have the guts to do that to your sister," said Pat in a mutinous tone, "And besides, Jim wouldn't let you."

'I am under _no_ obligation to keep you here, Patricia, sister or not. In fact, you've just about worn out all of your family life-lines: if you weren't related to me, you'd be out on your ass already," said Anne, "You're right, Pat, I don't want to do it, but I'm not going to put up with this shit any longer. Now out on the floor, your shift started six minutes ago."

Pat gave her an extremely ugly scowl, turned her back on her sister, and trudged out to the cash register.


	7. Chapter 7

Her figure illuminated against the darkness by the soft glow of the moon and a handful of street lamps, Pat marched resolutely down the Alley. On either side of her, the windows of the shops were dark, their doors locked; Pat did not see them, as she kept her head down, her shoulders hunched against a chilly breeze that was creeping up behind her. She was still bitter over her argument with Anne, and inclined to feel very sorry for herself. As she neared the end of the Alley, she was greeted by the golden gleam of lighted windows, and the sounds of laughing, talk, and raucous singing: the Leaky Cauldron.

"Wotcher, lass? Fancy a turn of the skirt, eh?" A gangly, unshaven man who looked about forty, grinned toothily at her as his stooping comrade cackled.

"No thank you," said Pat shortly, not looking at them as she continued walking, her head held high.

"Wassa matter, poppit?" wheezed the second man, giving her a revoltingly sweet smile, "Still canned goods? Don't worry, it won't hurt…much."

The pair snickered unpleasantly, abandoning their haunt outside the apothecary and sauntering after Pat. Pat ignored them, not looking back, though she quickened her pace considerably, trying to make it to the safety of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Scared, lass?" called the first man, "Promise we won't be too rough…We'll be perfect gentlemen, take turns and everything!"

"Leave her alone, Fingers," called a voice from the shadows.

The pair stopped laughing immediately, their pursuit of Pat slowing. "S'at you, Abernethy?" rasped the second man.

"It is. Now leave her alone, she's with me," said Ty, walking slowly out of the shadows by the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. He looked exceptionally calm, casually smoking a mahogany pipe, his other hand hanging loosely from his pocket.

"Begging your pardon, Abernethy," said Fingers, his lips twitching into a wry sneer, "Didn't know this one was spoken for. You'd best warn your ladies not to wander too far from home this late at night." He looked Pat up and down, grinning repulsively, adding, "Especially when they're as young as this one."

"I don't think I asked you for your opinion," said Ty coldly, "Now get back to Knockturn, where you belong. Cirrus is in, and he's looking for the pair of you. Not in a good mood either."

"Right," said Fingers, his face paling, "C'mon Brass."

Ty's eyes followed them as they disappeared into the shadows, his face set. Pat hurried toward him, feeling extremely relieved. "You know those two?" she asked, her voice sounding a little angry.

"Well enough," said Ty casually, taking a long draw on his pipe before continuing, "Crooks, the pair of them. Like to hang around here and try to mug unsuspecting passers-by. But they're so helpless, they usually end up in a body-bind before the night is out. Harmless, really."

"Ha, I'd hardly say harmless," said Pat, looking sulky, "I was alone, they could've done whatever they wanted."

"Pat, you weren't alone," said Ty, a slight smile creeping across his face, "I told you I'd wait for you. I was watching you the whole way."

"Nice of you to take your time intervening then," said Pat sarcastically.

"I know you can handle yourself, babe; got a wand, don't you? And in my defense, I do believe I _did_ step in. Don't I get a thank you?"

"I suppose," said Pat reluctantly, "…Thanks."

"That's more like it," said Ty, putting his arm around her shoulders and kissing her, "Now I think we were going inside?" With his other hand, he pushed open the door, and he and Pat stepped into the warmth of the bar-room.

If the night outside had been cold, dark, and desolate, the interior of the Leaky Cauldron was just the opposite. As she stepped inside, Pat felt a rush of warm air wash over her, mixed with the distinct smell of ale. She had only a moment to peer around at her surroundings before she was ushered away from the doorway by Ty. They sat down together in a tiny corner booth, upholstered in worn burgundy velveteen, which curved around an equally small, round table that was bolted to the floor.

"Glad you decided to join me," said Ty, reaching across the table and taking Pat's left hand in his, then, noticing that she was still somewhat uptight, he added, "Not still worked up about what Fingers and Brass said to you, are you?"

"Wouldn't you be?" asked Pat in annoyance, her feelings of self-pity rekindled.

"Pat, they didn't mean anything by it, they were just playing with your mind."

"Yea, right," said Pat, thoroughly unconvinced, "I hardly think so."

"Oh come off it," said Ty, "They're gone, I'm here, and you're fine. All's well that ends well, right?"

Pat stared resolutely at the table, saying nothing.

"Patsy, come on," pleaded Ty, "I don't want you to be upset. You know I'd never let you get hurt."

Pat remained silent.

"Tell you what, let me get you a drink, you can settle down a bit, and we'll forget the whole thing, right?"

After a long pause, Pat shrugged half-heartedly. Ty took this for a 'yes.'

"Right. Oi! Ruth!" he called, beckoning to a homely-looking, platinum blonde barmaid, who stumbled toward them, notepad in hand.

"What'll it be for you tonight, Mr. Abernethy?" said Ruth, winking at him as she took a stubby-looking quill from behind her ear, gingerly licked the tip, and poised it above the paper.

"Glass of firewhiskey for me to start, and my girl'll have…" he trailed off, looking at Pat.

"Just a butterbeer for me, thanks," said Pat quietly.

"Suit yerself, miss," said Ruth, busily jotting down the order before bustling off.

Ty eyed Pat somewhat suspiciously. "You're really not yourself tonight. Can't be just those two who got you all shaken up. What's wrong?"

Pat shrugged. "Nothing important."

Ty shook his head. "If you want to keep everything to yourself, that's your business. But I'm not going to hang around if you're just going to mope about all night. You know if you want to talk, I'll listen…"

"Well…" Pat began, then sighed. "Things between me and Anne have been pretty bad," she conceded, "It's pretty obvious that she hates you, and she's convinced you're a 'bad influence' on me. She's threatened to kick me out if-"

"She threatened to kick you out?" interrupted Ty, raising an eyebrow, "Your sister threatened to kick you out?"

"Well…yea," said Pat, looking at the table.

"Well do you _want_ to stay?" asked Ty.

"Not like _this_," said Pat, "Not if we're going to be fighting all the time, but-"

"Then leave!"

"What?"

"Don't wait for her to decide to boot you, just leave!" said Ty, "Don't let her walk away with the upper hand!"

"But I don't have anywhere to go! I've looked everywhere around here, and all the flats are either occupied or way out of my price range!" said Pat desperately, "And besides, if I leave Anne, I can kiss my job good-bye. I need that money, Ty!"

"Not a problem," said Ty, grinning coyly, "It just so happens that my cousin is accepting applications for a cashier right now. Our last girl just moved out to North Yorkshire, and Nathaniel's getting pretty desperate. You could get it in a snap."

"Really?" asked Pat curiously, lifting her eyes from the table, "That's great – but it still doesn't solve my accommodation problem."

"Come live with me."

"What!"

"Come live with me!" repeated Ty, "It's only an upstairs suite, but it's definitely big enough for two. We can be together, and you can get away from your bitch of a sister."

"I don't know…" said Pat uncertainly, "We've only been together a couple of weeks. Kind of soon to be moving in together…"

"Ah, don't think of it that way," said Ty dismissively, "Just think of it as one friend helping another friend out. You need a place to live, and I happen to have such a place. What could be wrong with that?"

"I don't know…" repeated Pat.

"Look," said Ty, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders, "If it gets weird, I will personally find you an alternate living location."

"You can't afford that!"

"I know I can't," said Ty, "But that's how sure I am that it'll work. Come on, what do you say?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Trisha? Trisha! Patricia Lauren-Eileen Lacey, get down here this m-"

"She's not here, Annie," said Jim from the kitchen table, not looking up from his newspaper.

"What do you mean she's not here?" asked Anne, entering the kitchen and leaning on the table.

"Out," said Jim simply.

"Out?"

"Out."

"With Abernethy, isn't she?" asked Anne hotly.

"I expect so," said Jim, his voice an unwavering calm as he casually turned to the editorials section.

"Well, when did she leave?" inquired Anne, flopping down into the chair across from Jim.

"About an hour ago."

"You mean she just went out there alone? At night?" exclaimed Anne, "That's not safe!"

"I'm sure she's got her wand with her, Annie."

"Jim, you _know_ what kind of unsavory characters are hanging about this time of night!" cried Anne, looking distressed, "If anything happened to her, dad would _never_ forgive me!"

"Annie."

"She could be attacked, Jim! She could get lost!"

"Annie!"

"If Ty hurts her, if he lets her get hurt, I swear to god I'll-"

"_Anne!_"

"What?" said Anne, halting her monologue.

"Annie, I know you're worried about her," sighed Jim, "but you've got to remember that she's of age. She's eighteen, she's got just about as much magic as any Hogwarts graduate, and she's not stupid. I agree that there are some nasty situations out there that she could easily walk into, but you can't try to shield her from that by shutting her up in here. I know you think of her as the baby of the family, but she's an adult, Annie."

"If she's in here, then at least she won't be with Ty Abernethy!" replied Anne huffily.

"I know, I know," said Jim, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, "I don't like him any more than you do. But it's her choice. If she wants to-"

"I don't see why he had to pick her! She's seven years younger than him! He's a slimy little bastard, he's just picking out the weak ones like some foul beast!"

"Is that what you're worried about?" asked Jim, "You think he's just taking advantage of her? You think Pat's not up to acting of her own accord?"

"Of course!" cried Anne, "Jim, before she left Hogwarts she was a mess! Spent a month in the hospital wing after a complete mental and physical breakdown! Even said so herself, Jim! And I hardly think she's made an overnight recovery! She's smart, but she's _vulnerable_!"

Jim sighed. "I know. But – and I know this won't be easy for you to hear – all you can do right now is let it happen."

"What, you just expect me to stand by while he _uses_ her? Just let it go and be there to pick up the pieces when it's through?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I do expect that you'll be a good sister and be there for her should things turn out badly. But you can't ward over her. I know she's your baby sister, but remember that you're not her mother. You're both adults and should treat each other as such. Whatever choices she makes, good or bad, are for her to decide."

Anne shook her head, then, dabbing gently at her eyes, she muttered, "I know you're right Jim. But I can't help it: I just don't want to see her get hurt."

"Try to get some sleep, Annie," said Jim, polishing his glasses on his shirt sleeve before putting them back on, "Have a talk tomorrow, see if you can't sort things out then."

"Right," said Anne, her eyes following Jim as he got up and slowly walked toward the staircase, "S-see you in a bit then." Anne sat motionless at the kitchen table long after Jim's footsteps had died away on the steps. Once or twice she started and looked toward the windows, before realizing it was only an owl or the gentle creaking of the shop sign as it swayed back and forth on the night breeze. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she felt certain something was coming…

----------------

"Are you nearly finished your charms homework? You said you'd help me with Care of Magical creatures, and I was kind of hoping it'd be some time before midnight!" said Lindsey exasperatedly from her spot on the common room couch.

"Half a second..." murmured Bitsy, as she gazed absently out of the opposite window.

"Call me crazy," said Lindsey, "But I'm pretty sure your parchment's on the _table_ not in the grounds. And I'm thinking that maybe _looking at it_ would help you get your assignment done faster."

"Sorry Linds'," sighed Bitsy, shaking her head and blinking, "Zoned out for a bit there. Kind of wondering how Pat was doing again."

"I think if something bad had happened, you'd have heard about it by now."

"You'd think if something _good_ had happened, I'd have heard about it too!"

"Well," said Lindsey, "looking back I'd have to say that sending her a howler was probably not the best way to incite regular contact..."

"She could have at least responded," said Bitsy glumly.

"Did you completely miss what I just said?"

Bitsy rolled her eyes and started writing her charms paper.

"You're just upset because she has a boyfriend."

Bitsy ignored her, and continued to write. _Practical uses of aguamenti include..._

"Come on, admit it," badgered Lindsey, "She's spending time with someone else and you're jealous!"

_...in which water will be conjured out of the caster's wand, creating..._

"I heard he's really good-looking too..."

"What? Who'd you hear that from?" asked Bitsy, looking up abruptly.

"Ha, got your attention!"

"Ironic that you'd be wanting to draw my attention away from the assignment you were so eager to have me finish a minute ago..." muttered Bitsy sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"In answer to your question," said Lindsey, ignoring Bitsy's comment, "Lori-Ann - my sister, you dork - was doing some anti-theft training in Diagon Alley and saw them together. I think her exact words were 'toned, tanned, and tempting'."

"Great..." said Bitsy, going back to her work.

"Can't you at least be happy for her?" said Lindsey, looking a little disappointed that her words hadn't produced the desired effect.

"Sure, I'll be happy for her," said Bitsy, putting on a very sarcastic smile, "Look, happy! So very, very happy!"

"Right."

"Sorry. Maybe I'll be happy for her when she starts going out with people who aren't total slime-balls."

"Oh come off it," said Lindsey, "You haven't even met him. How can you pass judgment on someone you haven't even so much as seen?"

"Um, duh!" said Bitsy, mockingly knocking her fist against her head, "He's a Slytherin, isn't he?"

"Not this again..." sighed Lindsey, "I'm sure if he were, you know, 'stereotypical Slytherin,' Pat wouldn't have even given him the time of day. She's not that desperate, you twit!"

"Slytherins are tricky little bastards,' said Bitsy, thoroughly unconvinced, "Probably put some kind of mind-control hex on her or slipped her a potion or-"

"Ooh, yea or maybe he's using the imperius curse!" said Lindsey, rolling her eyes, "Seriously, do you even listen to yourself when you talk, Bits'?"

"Oh whatever..." said Bitsy, scribbling down the last line of her assignment and tossing it into her 'finished' pile, "Now do you want help with the manticore report or not?"

"Sure," said Lindsey, "but I think I left my textbook upstairs. One sec..._accio textbook!_"

As Lindsey artfully guided her textbook down the stairs and into her lap, Bitsy's mind drifted back to Pat. She knew she _should_ be happy for her - but something about it didn't seem right. She shook her head, trying to quash her doubts so she could concentrate on more important things; though the anatomy of a manticore wasn't really what she had in mind.

----------------

It was late at night, and Cabal Hall was very quiet. A passerby on the outside would have dismissed it as being abandoned, had it not been for the dim light shining from the study window. A tall, thin man in a dark velvet dressing gown sat in a high-backed armchair before a crackling fire. His left hand, its knuckles white and swollen with arthritis, was clenched around a crystal brandy glass. Every now and then he would suspend his look of graveness by taking a sip of drink. The serious look and deadly calm silence of the man was enough to make a small child cower.

"Father?" echoed a man's voice from behind the study door.

"Enter," said the man, not turning, his eyes still fixed on the flicking fire.

The door opened a crack, and a young man of about twenty stepped cautiously inside. The firelight illuminated a delicately handsome face, short, wavy, nut-brown hair, and tall stature; the only thing marring his appearance were a pair of slightly prominent ears, and a lingering look of haughty pride that made him seem quite unapproachable.

"What is it you want at so late an hour, Quinn?" inquired his father, still staring ahead.

"A letter from Anne, sir," said Quinn, slowly walking toward the armchair, a folded piece of parchment in his hand. He reached his father and handed him the letter without further elaboration.

"You have been reading it, Quinn."

"No, sir, the seal is still intact," said Quinn nervously, "as you can see for yours-"

"Silence." The words were not shouted, but Quinn ceased talking at once, shrinking back slightly. "Do not lie to me, son, it does not become you."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"This letter is addressed to me, is it not?"

Quinn murmured an inaudible response.

"_It is addressed to me, is it not_!" said his father, in a much louder and angrier voice.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. As you are not illiterate, I trust that you can recognize when something is not yours and therefore none of your business."

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir."

"You're damn right you are. Fall back. I wish to examine this letter in privacy - though as you've already had the indecency to read it yourself...Nevertheless, fall back."

Quinn obediently stepped back, his eyes diverted to the floor. He did not wish to incite his father's rage by attempting to take another look.

"Ah, my poor daughter. Such a worrier she is," said Reginald Lacey in a slightly softened voice, "It seems she fears our young Patricia has fallen into bad hands."

Quinn dared not reply for fear of irritating his father.

"Anne should have realized by now that I have no cares for the fate of her sister. If that simpleton has decided to besmirch my good name then she is no daughter of mine."

There was a hush as Mr. Lacey continued to read; the only sounds were the pop of an ember, and Quinn's nervous breathing.

"Abernethy...Abernethy...Where _do_ I know that name from...?"

"Belarius Abernethy," said Quinn hesitantly, feeling that it might be pertinent to speak, "He was a founder of the British League of Pureblood Wizards. Married a Dutch witch, I believe."

"Ah, so this would be his darling son. Pity, just when Patricia decides to be sensible about the company she keeps...I daresay the way she's ruined herself now, Abernethy could do much better..."

"With all due respect sir, Tybalt Abernethy dropped out of Hogwarts when he was fifteen; he's no more than a grocery clerk."

"I stand behind my opinion," said Mr. Lacey icily, his lip curling slightly.

Quinn lowered his head and was silent again; though he too thought little of his youngest sister, it was a blow to his pride to think that such an abject failure could be too good for a Lacey.

"Anne has wasted her time," said Reginald Lacey, slowly folding the letter into thirds, "Patricia is her burden now. Kindly inform her of such, Quinn."

"Yes, sir."

"Now be gone. I wish to be alone," said Mr. Lacey coldly, as the letter floated lazily into the fire and was incinerated.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** Sorry about the short chapter – this was the most obvious break in the story.

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Anne blinked, and opened her eyes. She squinted slightly, suddenly dazzled by the buttery band of early morning sunlight that was leaking in through the kitchen window, bathing her head in a cheery glow; it was perhaps because of the warmth of the sun that it took her a moment to realize why her arms were coated in goosebumps. Slowly, Anne sat up and straightened her back with a groan - had she been sleeping all night slumped over the kitchen table? - and shivered as an early-morning breeze played at her bare ankles. Still blinking with sleepiness, Anne's eyes scanned the room and finally fell on the clock: 5:48AM. Jim must still be in bed. As she glanced toward the staircase, another breeze crept up on her, and Anne reached habitually for the corners of her shawl, before realizing that it was up in her bedroom; she also realized that the front door was open.

Robbed. Burgled. In the middle of the night. While she dozed away at the kitchen table! Anne was so overcome with horror that she didn't even think to call for Jim. A sickening lump in her throat, she rushed to the silverware drawers and pulled them open with trembling fingers: everything seemed to be in order. She shut the door on the way to the store front where she fumbled with her wand, performing the numerous incantations required to open the lock of the safe: after a quick count, the money was all there, and the safe didn't look as if it had been tampered with, magically or otherwise. Her eyes darted around the hall as she moved toward the stock-room: nothing appeared to be missing. She pulled open the stock-room door, expecting the worst: all the boxes were stacked neatly where Jim and Pat had put them just the day before. Pat!

Anne nearly tripped as she ran up the stairs. She knocked gently at Pat's door, but her patience was entirely spent, and the door was open even before her knocking was done. Pat's bed was neatly made, and the whole room looked clean and organized; it was worse than she had expected. Anne flew to the chest of drawers and opened one after another. Empty. Empty. Empty.

The happy smiling people in the family photos atop the dresser did nothing to soothe Anne's temper. With one angry swoop, a picture of Anne and her three sisters hit the floor; the glass shattered, and the occupants cried out in silence, their young faces terrified. The occupants of the other photos looked on in horror, and a colour portrait of Jim's late father exclaimed, "Now see here, young lady!" But Anne ignored him and dashed out of the room.

"What's up, Annie?" said Jim sleepily, yawning as he leaned on the bedroom door, "You never came to bed last night. And it's not even six o'clock in the m-"

"She's gone, Jim," said Anne, pausing only for a second to give him a hard look before starting down the stairs.

"Gone? What do you mean gone?" asked Jim, his voice still laced with tiredness as he followed his wife.

"Gone! All her things are gone, room looks like it's never been lived in. She's gone, I tell you!"

"But why would-"

"Oh for God's sake, Jim, why do you think!"

"Oh..." said Jim, slowing down in his pursuit of Anne.

"It's Ty, dammit," muttered Anne, angrily, "I am going to curse that little bastard if he's done anything to hurt her."

"Anne, do you really think she hasn't left of her own accord? I mean, really, would her room be neat and tidy if she'd been forced to go somewhere with him?" said Jim reasonably, "Do you think a kidnapper would really be bothered to come back to collect the hostage's belongings?"

"He's a sneaky little bastard, there's no telling what that type of slime is capable of. If Pat had left on her own, she would've at least left a note," said Anne, hastily pulling on her wool coat.

"I believe she has," said Jim, leaning in to inspect the kitchen sink. As Anne turned to look, he turned the cold water faucet, and a stream of words poured out, accompanied by a voice that was rather muffled by the running water.

_Anne, Jim:_

_I don't suppose you've failed to notice that I'm not here. Though you didn't seem to notice me leaving tonight, so who knows, really. You could've been going on this whole time, only finding this note when you went to fill your tea kettle or something. It doesn't really matter._

_Anyway, I've decided I can't live here anymore. I'm sorry Jim, I know you need help, but it just isn't working. Anne, I needed you to be my sister, not some sort of surrogate mother. Maybe you just don't get it: I'm an adult, and I can make my own decisions. You may not think much of what I'm doing with my life, but it is __**my**__ life, dammit, not yours. I needed you to understand that, to support me in my decisions, but instead you made me feel like shit. You keep telling me not to become something less than what I'm worth: so why do you treat me like some stupid child who doesn't know much and doesn't make much of what she does know. Something to think about._

_You probably think I'm with Ty. You're damn right I am. At least he doesn't treat me like I'm a nuisance. I suppose this'll be good for you, Anne, getting the nuisance out of your way. Oh, and don't even think about coming over here. I am not listening to any more of your rhetoric, and I am certainly not letting you freak out on Ty. Besides, a little early-morning feud wouldn't be good for business, now would it?_

_So Jim, I'm sorry. And Anne, I'm sorry too, but not for anything __**I**__'ve done._

_Patricia Laceeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy..._

The last syllable lingered whinily as it was washed down the drain. Jim turned the tap slowly to the left, and the flow of water ceased. A slight drip echoed in the silence as Anne began to cry.


End file.
